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Illustration by Alex Siklos
A funny thing happened on the way to my knee replacement surgery. I died on the operating table.
I already had one knee replaced successfully. I loved my hospital and my doctor. I couldn’t wait to get my second knee done. I’d do physio for a month and I’d be good to go. Life without pain.
I was dreaming of a new level of mobility – running up and down stairs, dancing till dawn and joining the baby boom frenzy of pickleball, but instead, I died.
This was a new experience for me.
Being dead is something I am still trying to fathom.
The pain in my ribs reminds me how grateful I am for the strong, quick-thinking doctor who within seconds jumped upon the surgical table and administered CPR, crushing my ribs and bringing me back to life. Not exactly a practice commonly expected of orthopedic surgeons who do bones not hearts.
When I regained consciousness in the operating room, I remember seeing the shocked, sweating faces and shaking hands of the nurses and doctors. Oblivious to any trouble, I asked if my knee surgery was over. The surgeon said my heart had stopped beating and the surgery was cancelled. Anesthesiology related cardiac arrest in heart healthy people is rare, I learned. Very rare. It seems I had a “bad reaction” to the anesthetic. In my mind a “bad reaction” is a skin rash not actual death. The doctor was gently trying to tell me that just minutes before I had died.
Later while recovering in the hospital, I laughed and bragged about cheating death like Kieffer Sutherland in the movie Flatliners, rising from the dead with a Pulp Fiction shot of adrenaline from John Travolta. I kept referring to myself as Lazarus Pam. I think I was putting on a show for my children and friends who came from far and near to be by my side. Their worried faces and tear-filled eyes made me try to be funny. But alone in the night while the doctors searched for underlying heart problems, the magnitude of this experience hit me. And then, like my children, I cried a lot. I was scared. I didn’t want to die.
Everyone kept asking me if I saw the bright light or had a glimpse of God. They specifically asked about God. In a world where many are sure God does not exist, where religion and spiritual beliefs are at an all-time low in popularity, I was surprised that this was the number one question from doctors, friends and strangers. I was asked this no less than 20 times in the three days after my event and by Jews, Muslims, Christians, Agnostics and Atheists. People really want to know.
But I saw no bright light, heard no voice of my mother calling me. Though I have experienced the God that everyone is asking me about:
I’ve seen God, in my husband, struggling to find the answers to how he almost lost his mate. Holding me, trying not to scare me and gently saying, “Honey, it was a very close call. I love you. We must be more careful going forward.”
In my eldest daughter, whose generous loves knows no bounds, who was by my side within hours though she lives in another city. “Mom,” she says, “you mean the world to me, and Dad I am here to look after you, too.”
In my faithful brother, struggling with his own cancer diagnosis, who brings me nutritious salads loaded with love as I recuperate. “We must stay healthy.” We laugh – just look at the two of us.
In the sustaining love of friends who surround me with comfort and safety. “We will bring you food, we will visit you, we will care for you.”
In the church minister, who prays for me. I am hopeful that he may have an in.
In the phone calls from children far away who say, “We are so relieved. We were scared. We love you so.”
I see God in the voice of my 16-year-old grandson struggling with the potential loss of a grandparent who adores him. “Granny, what would the family do without you?”
In a visit from an estranged family member where we both acknowledge the enduring love we feel for each other, something that can only be released in this moment and knowing that outside of this moment, it’s just too hard.
In my passionate and youngest daughter who nurtures, worries and cries, fearful my heart might stop again God shows me a reflection of myself.
So yes, I did die, there was no bright light from God but I did see something divine, I saw extraordinary goodness and I saw love. I am blessed by this second chance at life.
Pamela Earle lives in Toronto.
